


green fury

by doremifasorashige, thunderylee



Category: Kis-My-Ft2 (Band)
Genre: Bloodplay, Canon Universe, Established Relationship, Horror, Kidnapping, Knifeplay, M/M, Murder, Sociopathy, Suicide, paranoid schizophrenia
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-10-26
Updated: 2012-10-26
Packaged: 2019-01-18 07:33:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12383724
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doremifasorashige/pseuds/doremifasorashige, https://archiveofourown.org/users/thunderylee/pseuds/thunderylee
Summary: It doesn’t matter what everyone else thinks, they’re not important. Only he is, with his pale soft skin covered in dark crimson red spilling from an opening.





	green fury

**Author's Note:**

> reposted from agck.

The idea of killing someone is thrilling. He’s thought about it, dozens of times when passing the old ladies on the street going home. They give him these _looks_. Nikaido doesn’t know what they mean exactly, but they seem all knowing and judging. He hates those looks. Everyone gives him those looks. Somewhat of a cross between judging and disappointment. It pisses him off, those looks.

Nikaido could just see it now, the red trickle of blood from an open cut. Something small to start, just as a taste for the real fun. The dark red color stains the pale skin, leaving a train until something stops it. It would be so warm under his fingers when he touches it just before making another cut. More blood would slip down. Dark and warm. The life of someone just dripping away slowly. It would be wonderful.

But Nikaido doesn’t kill the old ladies from down the street, or anyone. Instead he shuts himself up in his room when he goes back home, leaving his parents to wonder just what is going on in their son’s head.

If they had any inkling, they’d have him committed. He knows it’s not right; he just doesn’t care. They don’t understand. No one does. It’s not just the power, or even the control— it’s the submission. Watching his victim tremble uncontrollably beneath him, begging for mercy, crying and struggling as they succumb to their fate given to them by Nikaido.

It’s _hot_.

He sees it on TV, actors and actresses playing the part but it’s realistic enough, turning him on years before he understood what it meant. Blood decorating a pretty face makes it even more beautiful, the idea of putting a knife to untainted skin enticing. He wants to know what someone else’s life tastes like. Would it be similar to his own or different? He dreams of one day finding out.

Senga knows, he has to. He knows everything else about Nikaido. After so many years of being friends (and then some), he knows Nikaido better than his own mother does, better than he knows himself. Senga is a very intuitive person, and even if he wasn’t, even Nikaido would get suspicious if someone continuously jumped him after watching gory horror movies.

“If you ever want to, you know, try new stuff,” Senga had told him once, clear and pointed, “I’d be open to it.”

The thought of tasting _Senga’s_ blood had Nikaido fucking him so hard, more aroused than he’s ever been as he feels Senga’s heartbeat under his skin. He bets Senga would taste good, maybe a little sweet.

Even with Senga’s blatant invitation, Nikaido can’t bring himself to ask. He loves Senga so much that he can’t chance Senga calling him a sick freak and ending what they have, which isn’t really anything. Nikaido doesn’t think he’d be able to watch Senga with anyone else, either. It would end him.

Nikaido loves Senga more than anything else in the entire world. He worries constantly everyday that Senga will stop wanting to be with him, be his friend. He doesn’t care what the world thinks of him, because the world doesn’t matter. Only Senga matters. Senga with his perfectly smooth skin, free of all blemishes and scrapes unlike Nikaido’s own. It’s soft under his fingers every time he touches Senga and everywhere he touches.

Sometimes, after Nikaido’s had his way with Senga, fucked him hard enough to maybe leave a bruise or two that will discolor the skin tomorrow, he watches the light breathing of Senga in his sleep. He imagines the sweat that Senga has worked up over his chest and his arms isn’t just perspiration glistening slightly in the moonlight coming through the window. He’ll pretend that it’s Senga’s blood that decorates his body and maybe even the sheets. The deep dark color even darker in the night standing out against Senga’s skin. He’s sure it would be _beautiful_.

He’ll trail his fingers along Senga’s veins that stand out on his arms. Blue lines going this way and that. All of Senga’s life in the small lines. He does it so often now that he doesn’t even realize it. Not exactly looking at Senga when he does, but looking past him maybe, at a different Senga. The Senga he has no problem asking if he can cut lines along his skin and letting the blood flow.

“Nika,” Senga will suddenly say, bringing Nikaido back to the present. He looks uncomfortable, face scrunched up and shoulders awkward. “You’re hurting me.”

Nikaido will look down at his hand wrapped around Senga’s wrist and suddenly let go. “Sorry.”

Senga always smiles after that. After anything Nikaido does that hurts he smiles. “It’s okay,” he’ll say and then lean in and kiss him. “Nika just really loves me.”

And he does. Nikaido loves him so much. But he still worries that one day Senga won’t like that. The thought has him curling up with his head in Senga’s lap just wanting to be close.

One weekend when Senga’s parents are out of town and his brother went on a trip with his friends, he and Nikaido are sharing a bath, relaxing and washing each other like usual. Nikaido lets himself get carried away with touching Senga everywhere at once, pressing his fingers into the crevices between Senga’s muscles like he’s mapping Senga’s body to memory. Senga’s blood runs slowly beneath his skin and Nikaido tries to chase it, feeling the pulse against his own when he slides his hands down Senga’s arms to hold his wrists.

“Tell me what you’re thinking,” Senga says suddenly, low and quiet enough to not startle Nikaido. “And don’t say ‘nothing’, because I already know.”

“You do?” Nikaido asks, tensing at the accusation, then sighs. “Of course you do.”

“I want to hear it from you,” Senga tells him. His tone is even and soft, but still direct. “Why are you so fascinated with my veins?”

Nikaido’s thumbs are running along the prominent ridges on Senga’s wrists and he abruptly stops, leaning his forehead against Senga’s shoulder. “Because your blood runs through them.”

“And?” Senga prompts. “Do you want to do something with my blood?”

Nikaido says nothing, but his hands tighten involuntarily and Senga leans back enough to press his face into Nikaido’s hair.

“Say it,” Senga hisses. “Say it and I’ll let you.”

“I want to taste it,” Nikaido says quickly, his nerves spiking at the thought. He’s starting to get hard and he knows Senga can feel it. “I want to… take it.”

Senga gently pries Nikaido’s hands away from his wrist and turns around to face him, pushing Nikaido’s chin up until their eyes meet. Senga looks a little scared, but also curious as he licks his lips and offers a small smile. “I trust you.”

“I don’t,” Nikaido replies, and it’s the truth.

“I have a confession to make, too,” Senga tells him, scooting back enough to reach behind the soap decorations on the top of the toilet tank. “I planned this.”

Nikaido’s eyes widen as Senga brandishes a switchblade, watching Nikaido light up at the sight of it and the implication of what it can do. “Kenpi, I can’t-”

“You can,” Senga assures him, holding the butt end of the knife out for Nikaido to take. “Do it in here so it doesn’t make a mess. It’s nearing wintertime, so there shouldn’t be any shirtless shoots for a while, and it’s cool enough for long sleeves. Anywhere below the face is fine.”

“Kenpi,” Nikaido breathes, both his heart and his libido racing. He accepts the knife and inhales sharply at the way it feels in his hand, flashes of Senga the bloody mess interrupting his vision as he examines the blade.

“We’ve come this far,” Senga says, leaning back against the side of the tub to allow Nikaido full reign of his body. “No turning back now.”

“I’ll be gentle,” is all Nikaido can think of to say as he eyes a patch of skin under Senga’s collarbone.

Senga smirks. “That ruins the fun.”

Even though Senga is willing to let Nikaido do whatever he wants, he hesitates, staring at the blade of the knife carefully then at Senga’s body. There are so many places he could mark up, it’s all so thrilling. He makes a small cut just below Senga’s shoulder. It’s a quick motion, causing Senga to jerk away, startled. Nikaido glances up at his face, the slightly pained expression that slips away quickly, then back down to where the trickle of blood slips between Senga’s skin and slides down slowly, leaving a path. Before it goes too far down, Nikaido leans in and licks up the blood, tasting it.

“What are you thinking now, Takashi?”

Nikaido pauses in his actions, unmoving, then leans his forehead above the small cut. “I’m wondering how I’ve gone so long without doing this.” Not waiting for Senga to say anything, he leans back and takes in Senga’s body, thinking of all the spots that will definitely be covered before making another mark on Senga’s abdomen. He moves slowly this time. Watching closely as the blood drops out slowly behind the knife as he moves it across the skin. He’s impressed with how still Senga keeps since neither of them are known for staying in one place for long.

The blood is warm over Nikaido’s fingers after having cooled off from not being in the bath. He swipes a finger through it, smearing it along Senga’s stomach like he’s finger painting then brings it to his lips. “It’s sweet,” he mumbles. “Sweet and warm, just like Kenpi.”

Senga seems to find this amusing. “What else would it be?”

“It could be bitter, or sour.” Nikaido runs his fingers through the new blood slipping out of the fresh cut then brings them up to Senga’s cheek, not really sure what he wants to do. His mind is muddled with the taste, the actual taste, of Senga on his tongue. Touching his fingers to Senga’s cheek and making it in red he says, “I always wondered what you’d look like if I did this.” He’s never wanted to say that out loud for fear that Senga might judge him, but now he can’t seem to stop himself. “Covered in blood. It didn’t even have to be your own, just covered in it.”

He leans in and licks at the mess spilling just below Senga’s shoulder once more before touching the point of the blade at Senga’s chest, drawing a line right down the middle. He doesn’t miss the way Senga’s breath seems to hitch at this. It excites him even more, driving him to make it go as low as possible before seeing the need to stop. The water of the bath gets in the way.

“Why do you trust me with this so much?” he finds himself asking but not really wanting to know the answer. Nikaido busies himself with leaning down to lick at the blood. Putting the knife on the edge of the tub, he moves close to Senga, causing the water to shift and push up to the open wound.

Senga hisses when the water touches it, burning so suddenly, but Nikaido doesn’t pay attention to that as he watches the blood swirl in the water. It moves this way and that, spreading out and mixing around. It’s mesmerizing, pulling all of Nikaido’s attention.

“Because I love you,” Senga says, his voice choked, and Nikaido can’t tell if it’s from the pain or the words. “And I trust you with my life.”

Nikaido looks up at him, sees the way he breathes in short, quick breaths, and brings his mouth to the first wound again. Watching Senga’s face, he notices how Senga’s eyes flutter and his lips part when Nikaido licks at the cut. “Does this feel good?” he asks.

“A little, yeah,” Senga replies, a shaky arm lifting to clutch onto Nikaido’s shoulder. “Did you hear what I said?”

“Yeah,” Nikaido answers, “and I want to believe you.”

He distracts himself by tasting more of Senga, unplugging the tub as he makes his way down the path he’d made for himself. The water lowers along with him and Senga gasps when Nikaido’s chin bumps his cock, already pointing up.

“W-why wouldn’t you believe me?” Senga asks, and his voice is almost sad. “Stop doing that and let’s talk about this, Taka.”

Nikaido doesn’t want to stop. His tongue continues down to the head of Senga’s cock, which slips easily past his lips, and Nikaido feels it harden the rest of the way in his mouth. Senga makes gorgeous noises as his hips rock up, betraying his words, one hand threading through Nikaido’s wet hair.

He’s really only distracting himself, because he’ll never believe Senga’s confession when he’s not the only one who gets to touch him. Nikaido doesn’t want to think about anything right now aside from the feel of Senga’s cock hardening completely in his mouth and the feel of Senga’s blood rushing through his veins when Nikaido presses his hand right over the pulse points.

He pulls back to lick at the head, placing a hand at the base of Senga’s cock and smearing some of the blood around even more. Nikaido presses his tongue into the slit, causing Senga to moan and pull his hair. He presses strong fingers into Senga’s hip from moving too much; it’s bound to leave a mark. Turning black and blue, maybe purple, all the blood rushing up to the surface but not breaking free. Nikaido leans in again, taking more of Senga in his mouth, running his tongue along the underside, over the vein. He can feel Senga’s pulse even here, it’s fast and erratic, making Nikaido move his head back and forth a bit faster, hand still wrapped firmly around the base.

“Taka,” Senga moans.

Nikaido glances up to Senga’s expression of complete bless. Open and willing, and it has Nikaido moaning around Senga’s cock deeply, taking a hand of the base and reaching down to fondle his balls slightly, bringing more noise and volume from Senga’s throat.

Suddenly Nikaido gets an idea and pulls back noisily, sweeping his eyes over Senga. Breathless Senga with his sweet blood, skin hot and sweaty, just ready to release with blood trickling down his chest still from the wounds. He rubs a hand over Senga’s stomach, pushing the blood everywhere and getting it all over his hand before bringing it back down and wrapping it around Senga’s cock. He moves his hand along the shaft, momentarily watching Senga’s reactions and covering it in dark red. Once he’s satisfied, Nikaido takes him in his mouth again. Just the head at first, lapping up the sweet taste that is Senga’s _life_ and moving down along the rest of his length until he feels Senga reach the back of his throat.

It’s almost everything Nikaido could want. He moans around Senga, letting the younger thrust up into his mouth just a tiny bit.

it doesn’t take long for Senga to come, the bitter taste mixing in with the sweet one, making Nikaido’s mind blur for a moment or two before he’s pulling back and looking at Senga with glassy eyes and red lips that he licks at to make sure he gets everything.

He stares so hard that he notices the first hint of a shiver from Senga, then leans forward in concern. “Are you okay?”

“Just cold,” Senga replies, flashing a weak smile as he reaches for Nikaido. “Do you want me to-”

“Not right now,” Nikaido cuts him off as he turns the water back on and frowns at the soap. “Cleaning you might sting. I didn’t completely think this out.”

Senga gestures to the same area where he’d originally stashed the knife. “I did.”

As the warm water fills the bathtub again, Nikaido looks behind the soap decorations and sees a tube of antiseptic cream, along with condoms and waterproof lube. He almost laughs as he retrieves the tube, leaving the others alone for now, and takes one last lap at the quickly-drying cuts before applying the cream.

“You should see your face,” Senga tells him, wincing a little as the water reaches the bottom of his markings. “You look like a vampire.”

Nikaido flashes his teeth, which aren’t nearly as authentic as Yokoo’s, and Senga’s giggle is refreshing as Nikaido turns off the faucet. “Can I kiss you like this?” Nikaido asks.

“It’s my blood,” Senga answers with a small shrug, wincing as the motion irritates the cut by his shoulder, and Nikaido rubs more cream onto that one as he leans in to press their lips together and share the taste of Senga’s life with him.

They kiss for so long that the water turns cold, but Nikaido’s hotter than he’s ever been before. This is the closest he’s ever been to his fantasy, the closest he _wants_ to get. A little cutting is one thing, but stabbing and strangling is quite another. Damn life for being so fickle and _ending_. He’d go a lot farther if it wouldn’t be the last time he’d ever do it.

That doesn’t stop him from thinking about it as he fucks Senga into the mattress after they’re cleaned up and dried off. He tightens his hands on Senga’s arms like he’d tighten them around his throat and comes so hard, soaring higher at the bruises he leaves in response.

“Does it have to be so rough?” Senga asks afterward, rubbing his arms. “The cutting is okay, but that really hurt just now.”

“I’m sorry,” Nikaido tells him, rushing to drift gentle fingers along the sore area and press a light kiss to Senga’s lips. “I’ll squeeze the sheets or something next time.”

“I still want to know why you don’t believe me,” Senga says, reaching for Nikaido’s face. “I think I proved my honesty to you tonight.”

 _But did you prove your loyalty?_ is on the tip of Nikaido’s tongue, but he doesn’t want to start a fight. He watches Senga quietly as he sleeps, tracing light fingers over his features that are so perfect. He’s happy about the night’s events and being able to do something he’d never thought he could do with Senga before. But he knows it can’t happen again. Not yet anyway. Nikaido doesn’t fully trust himself with Senga’s life in his hands no matter how pretty it was.

In his head he hears Senga’s words of “I love you” over and over again, wanting to believe it so much. It sounds so honest and true coming from Senga, like everything else he says to Nikaido. But then his mind is tainted with the images of Senga being close to other people. Leaning in and kissing Fujigaya passionately. He sees Fujigaya’s tanned skin against Senga’s and they come together, bodies hot and sweaty and flush together. It’s disgusting. No one is allowed to be like that with Senga. There are plenty of other people Fujigaya can go be close to and fuck, and none of them are Senga. He hates seeing them together. Holding hands during concerts or photo shoots. Hugs in the heat of the moment when a concert ends. In the back corners of the Jimusho where they make out heavily in limited light.

Nikaido isn’t really sure when he fell asleep but he wakes to Senga curled up on his chest, nothing but warmth as he runs a hand along Nikaido’s arm, and that’s when he realizes he’s shivering despite Senga’s warm body pressed against his and a blanket on them. He wants to pull away from Senga, to tell him to not to touch him, but he can’t. Instead he holds onto Senga as tightly as he can, probably causing some bruising. If Senga minds, he doesn’t say anything this time, just lets Nikaido hold on as much as he needs to.

Once they go back to work, though, Nikaido starts to notice things. The way Senga steals glances at him, bundled up in his winter clothes that cover up the marks Nikaido had left on him. His sly smile says that he’s thinking the same thing, but all Nikaido can think of is one of the others seeing those marks and getting the wrong idea.

“He’s abusing you,” they would say. “You should leave him.”

Suddenly everyone is an enemy. Nikaido is paranoid every time Senga is alone with one of the other members, even if it’s for work. Luckily they’re paired together most of the time, and the fans think this new possessive side of Nikaido is cute.

“I love you,” Senga says when they’re alone, giving all of himself to Nikaido and falling pliant under his hands. “I want to love only you.”

 _Lies_ , Nikaido’s brain protests, but he bites back the accusation, taking it out on Senga’s ass instead. True to his word, he fists the linen instead of Senga’s body, though he lets his mouth wander and turtlenecks don’t always go high enough.

“Hey you, Chewbacca,” Kitayama pulls him aside after a practice. “Trust me, I understand why you want to eat him right up, but can you keep the gnawing below the collar please?”

Nikaido’s eyes dart up to look at him, wholly focused on how Kitayama had just said to his face that he wants to be with Senga, but all he says is, “Yes, sorry.”

“Kinky kouhai,” Kitayama grumbles as he walks away, and Nikaido doesn’t take his eyes off of him for the rest of the week. He catches Kitayama sneaking looks at Senga periodically, one long gaze while Senga was stretching in front of the mirror, and Nikaido has to ball his fists to remain calm.

“Kitamitsu is squawking about what we do in our private business,” Senga says as they head to Nikaido’s for the night. “He said he’s concerned about you hurting me. I really think he just needs to get laid.”

Nikaido stops short, pulling Senga to a halt with him. It’s starting, he thinks. Kitayama is trying to lure Senga away from him by making Senga believe that he’s dangerous, just like his worst fear. He cannot allow this to happen.

“What?” Senga asks, glancing around the dark street. “Did you see something? Your face is scary.”

And Senga’s already starting to be brainwashed. “It’s fine,” Nikaido lies smoothly, forcing his face to relax. “Let’s go home.”

In Nikaido’s room, tucked into his bed after an awkward attempt at sex thwarted by Nikaido’s distraction, he lay awake listening to the even sounds of Senga’s breathing and becomes very aware of his own heartbeat pounding in his head. All he sees behind his eyes is Senga running into Kitayama’s arms when he’s completely convinced that Nikaido is a bad person.

Before he even knows what he’s doing, Nikaido creeps out of bed and throws on enough clothes to be decent. He kisses Senga on the forehead before he sneaks out into the night, confident that Senga will be much happier once he’s not being fed lies by backstabbing leaders.

At least Kitayama is small enough to hide basically anywhere. It had seemed pretty weird at the time, but now that Nikaido has a mission, Kitayama giving spare keys of his apartment to some of the group works.

It’s entirely silent when the door opens without a sound. Keeping his feet firmly on the floor with a slight shuffle to avoid from tripping on anything, Nikaido slips from the entrance into the main part of the apartment. It’s all pitch black, playing tricks on his eyes so he sees things that aren’t there. It startles him for a moment, causing him to stop and almost rethink this, but it’s too late now. Nikaido has to do this. It’s more for Senga’s well being than it is for himself.

Once his eyes adjust to the dark, Nikaido makes it to what he believes is Kitayama’s bedroom. The door opens with a slight creak and stops only halfway. Something must have fallen, but that’s not a big deal. In the bed, Kitayama is sprawled about on light-colored sheets that stand out in the night. Nikaido can hear the pounding in his head again as he looks at Kitayama’s relaxed figure. Something in his mind tells him this is wrong but it’s not loud enough, not pressing enough, so he ignores it.

Aided by the fact that Kitayama sleeps like the dead, Nikaido has little trouble making his way over to the bed and gagging him to limit the noise. This is pretty much what he’s always ever wanted, Nikaido thinks when he pins Kitayama’s body down with his own, pulling a switchblade from his pocket. Almost, he ignores that it’s Kitayama under him for a moment to ease his mind, thinking that it’s just Senga and another one of their games during sex. It would be amazing. Senga all open under him, blindfolded and gagged with red trickles of blood everywhere.

Kitayama’s moan in his sleep brings Nikaido back to the issue. He doesn’t have all night to do this and put the body somewhere, so he wastes no more time covering his hand with the top sheet before wrapping fingers around Kitayama’s neck, thumb pressed gently over Kitayama’s windpipe.

It’s a rush unlike anything he’s ever felt before. The dreams and scenes on TV did nothing to prepare him for this feeling, this _power_ and the way his skin prickles as his fingers tighten. He feels the beginning of a subconscious panic from the man beneath him and it takes him higher, makes him squeeze tighter.

Kitayama’s body jerks and it’s better than sex, Nikaido gasping out his own air as he takes another’s. The sheet gets in his way, so he just slashes at it and catches a bit of Kitayama’s shoulder in the process. Kitayama’s whine dies on Nikaido’s fingers as the blood starts to flow, trickling down his arm and staining the sheets as Kitayama’s hands lift in a last ditch effort to fight for his life.

But it’s too late, Nikaido’s denied too much oxygen to his brain, and Kitayama can’t get a hold on him, as desperately as he tries. His struggling just makes Nikaido enjoy it even more, eyeing the lines of red and inwardly declaring that it isn’t cheating if he just has a taste. Kitayama’s not as sweet as Senga, but just as tangy and alive under his tongue. For now.

The next swipe of the switchblade is intentional, slicing neatly across Kitayama’s throat to hit the main artery. Nikaido has to move his hand in order to do it, but his disappointment is overridden by the gorgeous way Kitayama writhes below him, bringing his hand to his neck and slapping at Nikaido with absolutely no strength behind it while Nikaido leans down for one last drink.

When he pulls back, he sees Kitayama’s eyes looking up at him, sad and scared and confused all at once, and then they fall shut.

Nikaido stares at Kitayama’s still body for a moment, trying to regain himself and calm down. It allows himself to admit it that was even more thrilling than sex itself. He doesn’t have time to think about that though. He glances at the clock on Kitayama’s bedside table; it’s not much after midnight so he still has time to hide the body and make it look like nothing happened. The sheets work to wrap up Kitayama’s body to avoid spilling any blood and getting more on himself. Now, where to hide the body, Nikaido wonders.

He remembers passing an old abandoned building on the way here. That could work.

The cover of dark streets keeps Nikaido from seeming suspicious as he carries the body, staying out of the light as much as possible, until he reaches what is actually an old house. It’s a little decrepit, wood looking worn and dark. No one would go in here, Nikaido figures. But he takes caution anyway. Heading inside and finding a way to the basement to place to body. It’s even better when he reaches below—after his moment of being attacked by spider webs and nearly dropping Kitayama’s body and running out—and sees that it’s a dirt floor. Wasting no time, Nikaido finds a shovel and starts digging a hole just big enough to hold Kitayama.

He smoothes out the dirt after, making it look almost as if it was never touched in the first place. It’s all so perfect, Nikaido thinks with what he assumes is a smile. No more lies to be delivered.

Senga’s awake when Nikaido comes back into the bedroom, hair damp from a quick shower. “Where were you?” His voice is still full of sleep but a hint of worry. “I got cold and you weren’t here.”

Nikaido shakes his head, flinging drops of water on Senga’s body and causing the other to shiver and whine. “I couldn’t sleep.” It’s not entirely a lie. It’s just not the full truth. What Senga doesn’t know won’t hurt him.

“You could’ve woken me up.” Senga’s warm body pressed up against his own, arms wrapped around his waist, worried that he’ll disappear again. Nothing can compare to the way his body feels under Nikaido’s fingers. Not even Kitayama’s slight struggle that came too late, or the warm blood that he can still taste in his mouth feels anything like Senga. All his muscles suddenly relax as he holds onto Senga and they both fall asleep.

The sun is barely up when Nikaido wakes in a cold sweat. The reality of what he’d done just a few hours before weighs in on his mind, and that paranoia returns. Nobody should notice Kitayama missing for a few days, he tries to reason with himself. And while the police may never find the body, they may find something that leads them to Nikaido. He hadn’t been careful at all to avoid leaving any fingerprints or DNA evidence.

His heart beats madly in his throat as he considers his options. He could leave; he _should_ leave. Even if nobody ever finds out what happened, their group will be changed forever. Their _lives_ will be changed forever. They’ll all want to sit around and talk about it, crying or kicking things (or both), and Nikaido doesn’t want to listen any of to that. He doesn’t think he _can_ without giving himself away, because as far as he’s concerned, not having Kitayama around to meddle in his business is a good thing.

“Kenpi,” he hisses quietly, shaking Senga’s sleeping form. “Kenpi, come on, we have to go.”

“Go?” Senga says sleepily, blinking his eyes open. “Go where?”

“A trip,” Nikaido decides on the fly. “It’s a surprise.”

Senga rolls towards him and smiles. “Surprise?”

“Yeah.” Nikaido takes one of Senga’s hands into his own and lightly touches all of his fingers in turn. “But we have to go or we’re going to miss the train.”

“Okay, okay,” Senga whines as he rolls out of bed. “How long are we going to be gone? Should I call my mother?”

“I’ve already cleared it with your parents,” Nikaido lies. “Don’t worry, I’ve arranged everything.”

One of the many things he loves about Senga, which is coming in especially handy right now, is that Senga loves surprises and doesn’t ask questions that will ruin it. It gives Nikaido time to think of a plan, most notably where they’re actually going.

The bad part about acting on instinct is that you don’t think about what happens after. They throw together a few days’ worth of Nikaido’s clothes in a bag, add some toiletries, and Nikaido stands in front of his house for a few long seconds before they leave. He knows he’s never going to see it again.

“Takashi?” Senga says gently. “Don’t we have to rush for the train?”

“Yeah,” Nikaido replies, then turns in the direction of the station. _Goodbye, Mom_ , he adds silently. _I’m sorry._

Senga’s sleepy enough not to notice that Nikaido glances at the train schedule when they get there, picking the one that comes the fastest. Conveniently, it’s going to Akita. Nobody would think to look for him in Akita.

They’re not on the train long before Senga’s fast asleep again, head pillowed on Nikaido’s shoulder and clinging onto his arm. The entire ride Nikaido takes to either staring out the window, watching as everything passes by, or staring down at Senga’s peaceful sleeping face. He thinks carefully on what to do next. Maybe they could get a hotel; he has enough money on him right now, having stopped to borrow some from his mom before they slipped out. Surely they could make it somehow on that.

It’s cold out when they get off the train four hours later. Senga shivers, body losing all of its warmth from sleep. “Takashi,” he whines, holding on tight to Nikaido’s arm.

Nikaido looks around the train station a bit. It’s empty now that the train has left, aside from the both of them, so he lets his mind wander.

“Takashi,” Senga says again, pulling on Nikaido’s arm and grabbing his attention. “It’s cold.”

“Right.” Nikaido lets go of Senga’s hand and puts the bag down to rummage through it. He might have thrown a scarf in there during his haste this morning. There, from the bottom of the bag, he pulls a warm dark blue one, it’s almost the color of night sky, and wraps it around Senga’s neck loosely. “Better?” His hands linger on Senga’s shoulder then slowly move down to his arms, rubbing them gently to keep them warm. Senga nods and give a sleepy smile which makes Nikaido relax for a moment.

His thoughts quickly change though when the set off to find a hotel and get lost in the process. Senga’s cold again, fingers like ice cubes in Nikaido’s hand and it has him holding on tighter, thinking that it will maybe pass on some of his body heat.

It takes them nearly an hour to find it, but Senga seems to sigh in relief when they do, melting the moment the step inside and draping himself on the counter a little. Nikaido talks quickly when getting them a room. “Any room is fine,” he says. It doesn’t matter to him. If he can figure out how to get more money, he wants them to leave in a few days anyway.

Senga quickly curls up on the bed when they get up to the hotel room, letting out a content sigh. Nikaido watches from a distance for a bit not really looking at anything. “I’ll go get us something to eat,” he says suddenly, putting the bag down and not waiting for Senga’s reply. He needs to go think.

“Did you lie to me?” Senga is right in his face when Nikaido comes back to the room an hour or so later, a small bag of take out in his hand.

Nikaido narrows his eyes. “What?” It’s then that he hears the murmur of the TV in the background and curses under his breath. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Kenpi.” He pushes past Senga into the room, taking off his sweatshirt and throwing it on the bed.

Senga grabs onto his arm, pulling him back. “Why are we here?”

“Vacation.”

He yanks on Nikaido’s arm. “Takashi!”

“It’s true!” Nikaido looks up at Senga with wide eyes, wishing, willing for Senga to believe him. _Stop asking_ , he begs in his mind.

Senga bites his lip, tearing his eyes from Nikaido’s face. “Okay,” he says softly, squeezing Nikaido’s hand. When he looks back up though, Senga’s eyes scream nothing but worry. For himself, for what’s going on, but most importantly for Nikaido. “Sorry I said anything.” He kisses Nikaido on the cheek before going back over to the bed and turning the TV off.

In the silence of the room, all Nikaido can hear apart from Senga’s breathing is the pounding in his head, and the blood rushing past his ears. “I just wanted to get away,” Nikaido says gently, speaking as much of the truth as he can. “Everything’s been so busy lately. I just wanted to stop time for a little while, and I wanted to spend it with you.”

Senga just nods, flinching a little as Nikaido lies behind him and wraps his arms around him. “I’m just cold,” he says too fast, not moving to scoot any closer. “It’s not anything else. Just cold.”

Nikaido freezes as he sees Senga’s phone clutched in his hand. “Who did you call?”

“No one,” Senga answers quickly. “I just had some messages, that’s all.”

“Don’t lie to me,” Nikaido says, his own voice scaring himself.

“Look if you want,” Senga tells him, lifting the phone over his shoulder and breathing a sigh when Nikaido rolls over to scroll through the messages.

 _We can’t find Kitayama, is he with you?_ Fujgiaya texted three hours ago, when they would have still been on the train.

 _Something is wrong. His car is outside and he’s nowhere to be found. Call me when you get up._ Fujigaya, ten minutes after the first one.

 _Ken-chan, where are you? Your mom said you stayed over at Nika’s and Nika’s mom said you two left several hours ago. It’s not like you not to tell your mom where you are. Anyway, we found something that looks like blood on Kitayama’s bedroom floor, so we called the cops. CALL ME._ Fujigaya, two hours ago.

Nikaido skims the rest of them, which are basically Fujigaya’s gradual progression of knowledge about what had happened last night and how the police were searching the area.

Finally he gets to the most recent message, twenty minutes ago, from Yokoo. _Tell me where you are and I’ll come get you. Don’t say anything to Nika._

“What’s this about?” Nikaido asks. “Why doesn’t he want you to say anything to me? Are you screwing him, too?”

Senga doesn’t move to refute him. “There was another message before that one, but I deleted it because I didn’t want to believe it.”

“What did it say?” Nikaido demands. He can’t believe he was so stupid to leave Senga with his phone. He should have snuck it out of Senga’s pocket while he was asleep on the train.

“Whoever had taken Kitamitsu left his key behind,” Senga says in monotone. “It was green, just like the one he gave you.”

Nikaido’s first instinct is to smash Senga’s phone against the wall, but that might make too much noise. Instead he pops out the battery and drops it in the toilet, watching it sink to the bottom before turning back to Senga, who is still curled in the fetal position on the bed.

“We have to leave,” Nikaido says, more calmly than he feels right now. “If you called the cops, they’ll be here any minute, and I’m not letting them take you away from me like the others.”

“I didn’t call anyone—” Senga starts, then falls silent as Nikaido wields the knife in front of him. “I didn’t, I swear.”

“Why wouldn’t you?” Nikaido asks, his nerves pleased at the way Senga’s cowering at the blade. “If you think I’m a murderer, shouldn’t you call the police? It’s what I would do.”

“I wanted to talk to you first,” Senga insists, his voice shaky. “And who said anything about murder?”

Nikaido doesn’t respond though, gathering their things and throwing Senga’s scarf back at him. “We need to leave,” he says again, pulling Senga up from the bed. “We need to leave now.”

“What’s wrong with you?” Senga’s voice is loud when he tries to pull from Nikaido’s grip. It sounds more accusing than intended and has Nikaido glaring. “Why are you so paranoid?”

“There’s nothing wrong with me.” He tries to pull on Senga’s wrist again, it’s tight and causing Senga to wince in pain. “I don’t want them to take you from me.”

Senga tries to push at Nikaido’s shoulder to get Nikaido to look at him. “Who is ‘them’?” he asks softly. “Takashi…”

“Them!” It echos in the room, causing Senga to jump when Nikaido looks at him full on, face full of panic and worry and anger, nothing how Nikaido usually looks. “Anyone! Everyone! I love you, Kento, and I don’t want anyone else to have you. To be near you.”

Senga bites his lip and reaches out to Nikaido to hug him maybe, or a comforting touch, but Nikaido backs away.

“We have to leave,” he says once more turning away from Senga, heading to the door and putting the knife back into his pocket. He can’t very well walk out with that in the open.

He doesn’t know where they’ll go when he gets Senga outside again, clinging onto his arm, but this is Akita and it’s cold out here. It calms his nerves a bit helping him to think. Nikaido heads to the train station again.

“Are we going home?”

“No.”

Senga presses his face into the back of Nikaido’s shoulder. “Where are we going?”

“Far,” Nikaido mumbles as he looks over the map try to figure out the farthest they can go. He doesn’t feel the slight tremble in Senga’s body or the dampness on the back of his shoulder where Senga refuses to pick up his face from even after numerous trains pull into the station.

It’s the middle of the night by the time they get to Kyushu, because if everyone thinks they’re in Akita, Nikaido is going to throw them off track. He gets them something to eat from a street vendor and finds a small resort-type inn, where the owner just gives him an open room for free because it’s already so late.

Senga hadn’t spoken to him since they left, but he’d been obedient in everything Nikaido had asked of him. Even now as they bathe together, Senga just sits calmly as Nikaido washes him, running his hands all over Senga’s body along with the soap.

“What are you going to do?” Senga asks quietly as they lay together in bed, both wide awake from having slept on the train. “We have no money and nowhere to go, and by now you’re probably on the country’s most wanted list.”

“I don’t know,” Nikaido says, clinging to him. “I didn’t think this through.”

“Why did you do it?” Senga’s voice is small, and Nikaido can feel him trembling, like he’s trying not to cry. “Why Kitamitsu?”

“He compromised our relationship,” Nikaido answers. “He tried to get you to leave me, to keep you all to himself—”

“He never touched me,” Senga cuts him off. “None of them did. I only wanted to be with you.”

It takes Nikaido a second to pick up on the tense change. “Want _ed_?”

“Come on, Nika, let’s go home,” Senga says, rolling over to pull Nikaido into a proper embrace. “We’ll just tell the truth and get you some help. There’s something not right in your brain. It’s not your fault.”

“There’s nothing wrong with me,” Nikaido mutters, struggling in Senga’s hold, “and I’m not going to jail. I’m going to stay right here with you.”

“We can’t stay here—” Senga starts.

“I’ll work for the resort,” Nikaido plans suddenly. “We’ll get some peroxide and dye my hair blond so nobody will recognize me. We’ll make a life here, just the two of us.”

Senga pulls back enough to look at him, and Nikaido doesn’t like what he sees in his eyes—pity.

“Don’t look at me like that,” Nikaido hisses, rolling on top of Senga and pinning him down to the bed. “That’s how everyone else looks at me. You’re different.”

Senga struggles under Nikaido’s weight a bit, wincing at the pressure. “If I’m so different,” he breaths, “then why don’t you trust me?”

Nikaido stops moving at that as his breath gets caught in his throat, looking from one of Senga’s eyes to another. All he sees now is sadness and pity. It hurts, pulls at his heart. Stomps on it, stabs it, until there’s nothing left. “It’s not you I don’t trust. It’s them.” He presses his lips to Senga’s roughly. “It’s all of them. They’re going to take you away from me because they think I have a problem. That something is wrong with me. But they don’t understand. They’ll convince you that I’m bad and that you should stay away from me.” Nikaido holds onto Senga as tight as he can, squeezing hard enough to bruise. He’s scared that if he lets go, Senga will disappear.

Senga’s body shakes under him. He’s crying now, and Nikaido doesn’t understand why. Senga’s not the one who should be crying, it’s him! Maybe it’s over Kitayama. Of course there was something going on between them. There was always something, even back when they were all so tiny and Senga first joined Kisumai, before the 2 was even thought of.

“Why are you crying?” Nikaido sits back up to look at him. The tone in his voice makes Senga closes his eyes and turn his head away, crying even harder. “Stop crying.” His grip on Senga gets even tighter.

“Y-you’re hurting me,” Senga manages to say, but he stopped trying to pull away in hopes of calming Nikaido down. “Your nails are digging into my arm.”

Nikaido looks down at Senga’s wrist, moving his hand a bit to reveal deep red marks in the skin. It’s not punctured or anything yet, but a deep red forms from the skin telling Nikaido that just a bit more pressure would have split it open and Senga’s blood would be flowing down his arm now. He leans down to kiss it softly, rubbing a thumb over the spot where his nails just were then turns to do it to the other arm. Senga seems to relax a little bit, full tears turning to soft sniffles, but his body is still ridged under Nikaido’s.

It seems out of place given the situation but Nikaido can’t help but ask, “can we?” It’s a mumble in the crook of Senga’s elbow and sends a shiver over his skin.

“Only if we can go home after.”

Nikaido pauses at this and looks at Senga’s face with a frown. “Sure,” he readily agrees, because if Senga’s going to insist on going back to _them_ , this will be Nikaido’s last lie. He leans down to kiss Senga’s lips, feeling the other man relax beneath him just like he’d known he would, and removes what little clothes they have on.

When he reaches for the lube and condoms, he grabs a third item that he slips under his abandoned pillow for when he needs it. Gently he prepares Senga, drinking down every soft moan and gasp as his body reacts favorably to Nikaido’s touch like everything is fine.

He pushes in and Senga clutches onto him, gripping his shoulder blades harder than usual, and Nikaido looks up to see Senga biting his lip with tears in his eyes. It’s beautiful.

“I love you so much,” Nikaido whispers, and Senga smiles. “I’m going to miss you.”

Senga doesn’t even react, which just proves Nikaido’s theory that he plans on leaving him once they get back to Tokyo, probably drop him off at the asylum and go right to Yokoo’s bed, and he no longer has any remorse as he reaches under the pillow.

The knife shines in the moonlight spilling in through the window, but only Nikaido can see it. It has him fucking Senga harder, that tension coiling through his body just like before, only it’s a thousand times more intense because this is Senga, his one true love. Killing Kitayama had been fun; Senga will be bittersweet. It has to be done, though. If Nikaido can’t have him, no one can.

Senga’s moans have him moving faster, pounding into him harder than before and he can feel Senga’s hand reach between them to where he’s hard and waiting for release. It all moves so fast then, Senga tightening around Nikaido, pulling them both closer to the edge. Senga’s body stills under his own. So tight. And just as Nikaido feels that he’s about to come, he kisses Senga once more; it’s more tongue than he had wanted a last kiss to be, but he takes what he can get and pulls out just after he comes while Senga closes his eyes blissfully and smiles, stupidly trying to breathe. That’s when Nikaido decides to take the clean shiny blade from under the pillow fully and let it sink into Senga’s flesh.

Senga’s eyes open wide when he realizes what just had happened, but he has little time to do much else, and even if he could, Nikaido had stabbed him in all the main organs, promising nothing but death.

“I love you,” Nikaido says again softly, thumb pressing at Senga’s cheek. His body is hot still from the sex, but so are the sheets as they absorb Senga’s blood, oozing from the gash.

It doesn’t really matter what Nikaido does now. He has no reason to run, or to hide anymore. So he takes his time showering and getting dressed, then covers Senga with the blanket, because it’s cold out and he can’t just leave Senga open and naked, he wouldn’t like that.

He thinks about calling one of the others, telling them where Senga is, but what’s the point, they’ll figure it out eventually. So he sits there, on the floor next to the bed staring at the door blankly, waiting for someone to come in. He sits there for two days before that door opens. It’s the owner of the Inn with his head hanging low and behind him is the rest of Nikaido’s group—the ones that are still living. It doesn’t even phase him, the slightly pissed off and disturbed look that Fujigaya gives him, Yokoo right at his side with a similar expression. Behind them, Miyata and Tamamori are sharing similar expressions of worry and sadness.

“He’s not… he’s just asleep, right Nika?” Miyata asks, not wanting to believe anything.

Nikaido doesn’t answer, just stares at them all with the same expression he’s had for days. He’s done a lot of thinking in that time period, since Senga couldn’t exactly hold a conversation with him anymore, and it takes these four giving him those same judging looks for him to make his decision.

Four on one should really be much tougher than this, but their initial shock and hesitation works in Nikaido’s favor. He slashes Tamamori’s throat first, emotionally disabling Miyata as well, and Yokoo’s delayed lurch forward lands him right on Nikaido’s knife. He can’t get the handle out and just abandons it to accept Fujigaya’s rageful tackle, rolling around on the ground with him as each tries to pin down the other.

“Nika, _stop_ ,” Fujigaya hisses between punches; he already has a bloody lip and it’s gorgeous. “We want to help you.”

“There’s no we anymore,” Nikaido tells him, catching a glimpse of Miyata cradling Tamamori’s body in his arms and crying hysterically into his hair. “You all dug your own graves—you have no one but yourselves to blame. You should have left him _alone_.”

Fujigaya looks confused, but then his eyes bulge animatedly as Nikaido gets a good grip on his neck. The novelty should have worn off by now, but even the second time feels just as satisfying, maybe more so because Fujigaya is so beautiful and popular and now he’s no more. He’s even attractive as the last bit of life leaves him, his eyes fluttering shut as his lips fall open with one final whine.

The sobs clue him into the last one, who doesn’t move or even look scared as Nikaido approaches him. He just clings onto Tamamori’s body, baring his throat and looking up at Nikaido with pleading eyes.

“Now you know how I feel,” Nikaido tells him.

His knife is still stuck in Yokoo’s chest, so he just grabs Miyata’s neck with both hands and watches his face scrunch up in pain as Nikaido strangles him. He doesn’t fight at all, opening his eyes to give Nikaido a grateful look just before he falls limp before him.

Glancing around the room littered with almost all of his groupmates’ dead bodies, the innkeeper long since running to likely call the police, Nikaido’s heart beats in his ears as he struggles to catch his breath. It’s all so, so annoying, the thumping in his head and the desperate gasps, and he’s about done with it.

He runs for his bag and grabs his razor, popping the plastic off and holding the blade to his throat in front of the mirror. He looks like shit, splattered with everyone’s blood and filthy from not showering, his hair unwashed and bags under his eyes. Not the ideal way to go, but it won’t matter one bit.

It hurts, god does it hurt, but it’s also freeing. His own blood runs down his throat and torso, escaping from the confines of his body in search of something better. As an afterthought, Nikaido gathers some of it on shaky fingers and brings it to his lips, licking it and finding it tasteless.

The last thing he sees is his own smile in the mirror, because now he and Senga can be together forever.


End file.
